No Rhythm > Over-Rhythm

Am not evolved enough to understand the apparent loin-inflammation that has been resulting from Mario Lopez’s Broadway debut in A Chorus Line. So he can dance. But does he have to flame dance?

This is ignorant, I know. And I wish I could be like Sarah Jessica Parker. I wish I could see a dandy up on stage and go ahead and marry it. But I am a small person. And if given the choice, I’d prefer my man with no rhythm than an over abundance of it.

I’d rather my man in the corner, knowing his rhythmic limitations, happy to nurse a beer and bop his head, happy to watch me bop my head with my girls, happy to chill off the dance floor waiting for me to finish.

I reckon Jim Sturgess is this kind of man. A man I’d like to walk with in slow motion out of a club, with his arm draped around me and his hand dangling off my shoulder, lanky and long in skinny jeans and a leather jacket with his hair in his eyes, not knowing the first thing about razzle dazzle on the stage but everything about razzle dazzle in the bedroom.